The Haunting of Brier Rose (22 page)

"But it's about the prettiest rose I've ever seen. Thank
you." She reached down and placed her delicate hand on his rough cheek.
Then, before he could pull away, she leaned over and pressed her warm lips to
his. Her hair tumbled forward in a silken wave that lapped at the side of his
face and shoulder, tempting him beyond endurance. With a groan, he opened his
mouth to take her in and raised his hands to grip the tops of her fragile white
arms, but she immediately pulled away, defeating his efforts. He sank back to
the pillows, realizing that she had offered only a chaste kiss and wanted
nothing more from him. Choking back his disappointment, he willed his senses
into submission and hoped she didn't notice the telltale sign of his reaction
to her beneath the thin blanket and sheet draped across his midriff and legs.

"I thought you wanted me to see about your leg," she
remarked.

"I changed my mind."

"You're wasting a poultice, Taylor, not to mention my time.
I could apply it right now. I brought it with me."

Taylor glanced at the bowl of steaming green leaves, the pads of
gauze and the metal teapot crowded around the rose. He had asked her to make
the poultice. Only a scumbag would make her go to all that trouble for nothing.
Even he wasn’t that big of a jerk.

"Well, all right."

"You'll have to turn down the bedclothes."

"I'm buck naked." He glanced up, challenging her.

She flushed, which increased her allure. He could barely keep
from pulling her down on him and forcing her to make love with him. He could
still feel the touch of her hair on his skin, and the memory made him swell
tighter with desire.

"Well, then..." She blinked rapidly. "Why don't
you just expose your injured leg?"

"I'd like to expose more."

"Taylor, don't."

Her blue eyes swam with a pleading emotion and something that
looked very much like hurt. He felt ashamed for teasing her.

"All right." He slid his leg to the side until it was
free of the covers.

His leg was well formed, with a strong calf, and his foot was
slender, his toes long and straight. Except for his wounded leg, Taylor was a
perfect male specimen, whose attributes were not lost on Rose. She had to force
herself to work and not think about what other attributes lay beneath the
covers.

Gently Rose removed the clumsy bandage he had applied earlier
that day. All the while she was highly conscious of his gaze on her profile. She
carefully pulled back the dressing.

Rose stepped aside to allow the light from the lamp on the
nightstand to illuminate Taylor's wound. The gash was still red and inflamed,
as if it had been recently inflicted. Fresh blood spotted the bandage.

"How's it look, Doc?" he asked.

She glanced at him, avoiding the sight of his naked torso.
"It doesn't seem to be healing. That’s so strange to me."

"I know. And it has been throbbing a lot more lately."

"That isn't a good sign." She leaned closer. "It
doesn't smell as if it's festering, though." She stood up and gazed at his
leg. "This is the strangest thing I've ever seen."

Taylor shifted onto his elbows and raised himself up. "Put
on the poultice, then, and see if it helps."

Rose reached for the warm plantain leaves. "This might smart
for a minute," she warned.

"I can take it."

Gingerly, so as not to touch the wound with her fingers, she
layered the plantain over his leg. He grimaced and narrowed his eyes, but he
didn't make a sound, much to her admiration. Hot poultices on open wounds could
be excruciatingly painful. After she finished applying the leaves, she soaked
gauze in hot water from the teapot and draped it over the leaves.

"How are you doing?" she asked, glancing at his face.

"Fine." The terseness of his words spoke of the pain he
was enduring.

"It will feel better soon, Taylor."

She touched his hand in a gesture of reassurance and smiled at
him. He closed his eyes and lay back upon the pillows.

"You know a lot for someone so young," he remarked.
"How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty. I'm going to be twenty-one tomorrow."

"It's your birthday tomorrow?"

"Yes." She looked away, toward the shadows of his
bathroom, wondering what the day would bring.

"You're trembling," he said. "What's wrong?"

"I'm tired, that's all."

He didn't press her further, and she was thankful that he
accepted her explanation.

"How is your leg doing now?"

"It's tingling. Feels okay."

Rose lingered at his bedside, unwilling to cut short their
conversation. She was also reluctant to climb into her own bed, afraid that the
nightmares of the past three evenings would return. But if she stayed with
Taylor, she knew she would weaken and end up in his arms, giving him the fatal
gift of her virginity. She inspected the sharp lines of his profile, wishing
she could afford the luxury of kissing his lips again. But the temptation to do
more would be too great.

"Rose," Taylor began, slipping his hand over hers. She
allowed her palm to remain trapped beneath his. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Instantly she was on her guard and tried
to pull away, but he held her fingers. She glanced up to find his black eyes
boring into her.

"Don't pull away from me, Rose. Just listen for once."

She glared at him.

"Listen to me, for God's sake."

Slowly she acquiesced and made her hand relax beneath his.

"Now, I know you don't put much stock in the aura stuff I've
been telling you. I know you think you can escape the danger here by running
away. But listen to me, Rose." He squeezed her hand. "You can't run
away from this thing in your aura. He's there. And he'll be there wherever you
go."

"How do you know?"

"Because I think he's like a leech clinging to a host. I believe
he's what is called a vampire. An auric vampire."

''What's an auric vampire?"

"A creature that feeds off the energy force of another human
being."

"I still have my energy. Plenty of energy."

"But for how long?"

"That's ridiculous!"

"Do you think I'd tell you something ridiculous? I'm a
no-nonsense guy, Rose. I always have been and always will be. And when it comes
right down to it, you've got to make a decision. Whom do you trust—a
straightforward man like me, or that namby-pamby guy with gloves on who kisses
your hand and wears an overcoat in the middle of summer? That's what it comes
down to. Who do you trust?"

"You think my client is a vampire?"

"Yes. You've talked about a man coming to you at night. That
was
him
—your client. He's even kissed you,
hasn't he?"

Rose looked down, ashamed to admit what she'd let him do to her.

"He's already started to put his spell on you, just like old
Count Dracula, by coming to you at night. Little by little he'll take you over
to the dark side."

A chill passed over her. Taylor's words sounded preposterous, but
they did offer an explanation for her nocturnal visitor and the supposed dark
spot in her aura.

"I can't let him do that to you, Rose."

She felt the tug of his hand as he drew her down against his
chest. Confused and frightened, she let herself collapse on top of him as his
arms came around her. Rose clung to him tightly, nestling her cheek against the
side of his neck.

"Don't you understand, Taylor?" she whispered.
"He'll kill you just because you're involved with me."

"How do you know?" He ran his hand up and down her
back, giving her a wonderful sense of security.

"It's part of the family tradition."

Taylor stopped caressing her. "This guy's part of your
family?"

"Yes."

Taylor held her back so he could see her face. "Who is he?
What's his name?"

"Seth Bastyr. He's my—" She averted her gaze and
sat up. She couldn't tell him the truth—that Seth was both grandfather
and great-grandfather, that he might even have been her father had her mother
not raised above the charmed state of the ritual bride. What would he think of
her once he found out about her family?

"Tell me, Rose!"

"I can't!" She pulled away, but he grabbed her wrist.

"I deserve to know. I need to know."

She looked down at her wrist and didn't struggle. Taylor's grip
was too strong, and her will to resist was quickly eroding. Taylor seemed to
sense the change in her, and his hand loosened to slide down to her fingers.

"Rose, why can't you trust me?" His low, warm tone
nearly broke her heart.

Rose lifted her gaze to his face. His black eyes glistened, full
of care and concern. She swallowed and looked back down. "I do trust you,
Taylor."

"Then why can't you tell me about your family?"

"Because I'm too ashamed!"

"Why? What’s wrong with them?"

"They're strange." She raised her chin and shut her
eyes, forcing back the urge to break into tears. "Please, I can't tell you
any more."

He let go of her hand and sighed. "You don't have the corner
on strange families, Rose. We all have our burdens of shame," he commented.
"Every one of us."

"You do?" She didn't step away from the bed.

"Yeah." He lay back on the pillows, wove his fingers behind
his head and smiled grimly, looking up at the high ceiling where the light
couldn't reach. "But I guess I've never wanted to tell anyone, either, now
that I think of it."

The way his arms angled outward made his chest look incredibly
wide. Rose crossed her arms, as if to fend off the male magnetism of his
exposed chest and the possibility that he would divulge his secret and expect
her to do the same. Yet such a trade would not be fair, for she doubted the
magnitude of his shame could ever approach hers.

"If you never tell anyone, it just eats you up inside, Rose.
Kind of sets you apart from everyone."

"You don't appear to be eaten up inside."

"No?" He switched his attention from the ceiling to her
face. "Maybe you just don't know me well enough. I've been called
everything from a heartless bastard to an ungrateful cad."

"You don't seem that way to me."

"That's because—well, with you it's different. I'm different."
He quickly looked away. She studied him, wondering what he was trying to say.
She thought of the rose he had thrust at her, almost as if he were ashamed of
being gentle and giving. Perhaps Taylor didn't know how to behave in that way.
She wondered what had made him become hard-hearted and gruff, but she wouldn't
dare ask in case he demanded the truth from her in return.

"That's one of the reasons why I want to help you," he
said. "If I could keep that bastard from dragging you down, I just might
be able to find some peace with myself."

"Atonement?"

"In a way." He swallowed and glanced back at her.
"But more importantly, I want to save you, Rose. I can't let that bastard
have you."

"Even if it means your death?"

"Yeah. I'll put myself on the line." He clenched his
jaw and closed his eyes. "There's a first time for everything, isn't
there, Brier Rose?"

"I can't ask that of you."

"It has nothing to do with asking. I'm giving."

"Why?"

"Why?” Taylor glanced at the ceiling again, as he gathered
his thoughts. “Because when I was sixteen, an acquaintance of mine raped a girl
from the wrong side of town. She took him to trial. I was to have been the key
witness, but my father forbade me to say a word against the guy because it
would have soured a deal my father was making with the kid's dad. So I kept
quiet and lost my honor. I perjured myself. The boy was cleared, but the girl
was made the laughingstock of the town, and I heard later that she had a child
by my so-called friend." He sighed. "The Wolfe fortune was built on
lies and misery, Rose, and I was part of it. I could have done something about
it. I
should
have done something
about it, but I didn't."

He fell silent and lay with his eyes closed while Rose looked down
at him. She couldn't believe that he would let something from so long ago haunt
him. He hadn't been more than a boy when it happened. Surely he could forgive
himself for that.

"You were a boy, Taylor. You were just trying to obey your
father."

"I knew right from wrong, Rose. And what my father and I did
was wrong. I still feel ashamed."

"Have you ever tried to contact the girl, to explain yourself?"

"Why? So she could slam the door in my face? What good would
that do?" His eyes opened, and he looked directly up at her. "She'd
call me a bastard. And she'd be right."

"It might be worth a try. She might surprise you."

"I doubt it." He sighed. "So that's my family,
Rose. And that's who I am." He paused and looked up at her, as if waiting
for her to speak.

What did he expect from her—to be told about the Bastyrs?
She could never divulge the heinous practices of her family. Taylor thought the
Wolfes were bad. He would be shocked to hear about the Bastyrs. Rose felt heat
on her face, as if Taylor already knew the thoughts that shadowed her mind.

"So who are you, Rose?" he asked, enclosing her fingers
in his warm grip.

She hesitated. Taylor deserved something in return for his
confession, but what could she say? She wet her lips and decided to tell him
the barest of facts. "Until a few days ago, I didn't know who I was,
Taylor. But I've been told I come from a family called the Bastyrs."

"And what are they like?"

"The Bastyr family is very old, from what I've learned.
They've always been different, ruled by a patriarch with peculiar tastes."

"What kind of peculiar tastes?"

"He—he—takes the females of the family."

"Takes them? What do you mean?"

Rose felt her cheeks flaming, but she plunged onward. "He
makes them his bride, to keep the Bastyr line pure and strong."